Harry Potter and the Curse of the Bambino
by Potter47
Summary: The Dursleys take six-year-old Harry to a fateful baseball game that he will never forget. REVISED AND UPDATED!
1. The Curse of the Bambino

Harry Potter and the Curse of the Bambino  
_ Potter47_

A/N: A year ago, the Boston Red Sox made it to the American League Championship Series, to face the New York Yankees. I wrote this short chapter — only a page-and-a-half at the time — on the spur of the moment. I came up with the title first (I had planned on submitting it to Mugglenet's list of never-gonna-happen book titles) and the idea sprung from that.

A little while later, I wrote the second chapter — "An Unforgivable Curse" — detailing (or, more accurately, avoiding details at all costs for sake of error) the loss of the Red Sox, in seven games, to the Yankees.

In the time that has passed since, the response to this story has been decidedly split: those who felt happy for Harry (otherwise known as Yanks fans) and those who thought it cruel to bring such memories back (the Sox fans). I've wanted to clarify that I AM A RED SOX FAN. I was born in Boston and have lived in Massachusetts my whole life.

I present now the revised and updated edition of Harry Potter and the Curse of the Bambino. I'd like to think I'm a much better writer now — best overall at Sink into Your Eyes' canon challenge! Hurrah! I'm a pair of trousers, and a good one at that! — and I've removed the mistakes that have been wicked annoying over the past year.

Factual Error: The Curse of the Bambino didn't technically exist until '88, when a Boston sports writer wrote a book about it. Too bad. Deal with it.

Chapter One  
The Curse of the Bambino

Harry Potter was not a happy little boy. His Aunt and Uncle, the Dursleys, had dragged him halfway across the world to see some Americans play ball.

Harry was six years old, and he was now in the rear of the rental car that Uncle Vernon had secured for the trip. They were on their way to see a World Series game.

__

Yay, thought Harry sarcastically. _I really care!_

"Game six," Uncle Vernon said for what Harry thought must have been the twelve-thousandth time. "If that team wins tonight, _we _win tonight." He grinned to himself in the rear-view mirror, looking quickly back down as he accidentally turned into the wrong side of the street. He corrected it quickly, cursing under his breath, "Damn Americans, don't even know how to put a street together properly..."

Harry's uncle was meeting some _very _important business partners from Massachusetts today at the game, and they would be _very_ happy to see their team finally win.

Apparently, there was some kind of a curse on the Massachusetts team. The curse of the bambino or something, Harry had heard. The Boston Red Sox had not won the World Series in a very long time. Of course, normally Harry's uncle did not have anything to do with curses, but if it meant good business, he would take out a magic wand and start cursing people himself.

__

No he wouldn't, thought Harry. _He'd never have anything to do with magic._

The Red Sox were now closer to winning than they had been in years. If they won today, the curse would be broken, everyone would be happy, and the Dursleys would be vacationing in Majorca.

The Dursleys _really _wanted to be vacationing in Majorca.

Vernon parked the car in some parking garage that Harry felt looked just the same as the one across the way and the one next to that, and the young boy got out of the car just as soon as his cousin had got out of the way.

Harry walked behind the Dursleys from there, and he thought it was a rather amusing sight, really, to see the three caricatures of snobbishness all dolled up in Red Sox jerseys and Red Sox caps. Harry himself even had an old hat with a 'B' on it jammed down over his lightning-shaped scar.

They took their seats, and soon the game had started. A man named Roger Clemens was the starting pitcher for Boston. They were playing the New York Mets.

Harry still could not believe that the Dursleys had taken him all the way to America. He was not enjoying the trip one bit and had many a time found himself wishing that he had been left with Mrs Figg.

It was really something special to make Harry wish to be with Mrs Figg.

Harry was not very pleased when the Red Sox had the lead — that all signs pointed to them as World Champions. Harry didn't really like any sports. It was strange really — he felt as though something was missing every time he played one at primary school.

It was the bottom of the ninth, and the Dursley's were still quite happy. Boston was still leading.

Harry accidentally knocked over the small box of peanuts the Dursleys had been so _gracious_ to buy him.

"DAMN IT!" Vernon suddenly shouted, and for a moment Harry was sure that his uncle was mad for the spilt peanuts, but it seemed that instead the Mets had tied the game. Harry glanced at the man beside Uncle Vernon, the business associate, and saw that he did not look happy.

There were now two strikes on another batter. The pitcher threw the ball towards the plate and the batter hit it toward first.

Dudley jumped out of his seat, knocking Harry headfirst into the one in front of him.

Harry wanted nothing more in that moment, than for something to wipe that big grin of his cousin's face. Something to make him miserable.

(Harry had the feeling Dudley hadn't noticed that the Mets had tied it up; he was grinning like a six-year-old about to go vacationing in Majorca, if there are any six-year-olds that know where Majorca is, which Dudley didn't which wasn't all that surprising on account of his lack of brain cells, in Harry's opinion.)

Harry concentrated on making Dudley miserable (his favourite pastime, when he got the chance), as he started to stand back up.

Then, to his amazement, Dudley started wailing.

Harry scrambled back into his seat to see what had happened.

The ball had gone through the first baseman's legs. Bill Buckner or something like that. It led to the loss of the game, and eventually the world series.

The Dursleys were furious. They had been so _close!_ So very close to Majorca despite obvious geographic long-distances!

Harry was trying to hide his happiness. Little did he know, of course, that by wanting to make Dudley miserable so desperately, he had caused nearly all of New England to be miserable for years to come.

Eighteen years, to be exact.


	2. An Unforgivable Curse

Harry Potter and the Curse of the Bambino  
_ Potter47Chapter Two  
An Unforgivable Curse_

Harry Potter was not a happy young man. The Red Sox — yes, the Boston Red Sox — had a fair shot at being champs again. The Dursley's surely would be excited. And Harry just _had_ to be a Quidditch player.

The Fitchburg Finches, a Massachusetts Quidditch team, had just played Harry's team, the Cannons. Ron was ecstatic, of course, when Harry had become a member of his favourite team. Obviously, even though he always thought the Cannons were a great team, he, like everyone else, knew there chances increased greatly when Harry joined.

The Cannons won the game. Well, _Harry_ won the game. The team was losing horribly before he caught the Snitch.

The team captain was a Muggle-born wizard. And even though he was English, and magical, he still followed American Muggle Sports, or AMS as wizards like to call them.

The Boston Red Sox, and their rivals, the New York Yankees, were deep into a series, game seven to be exact, to find out who would move onto the World Series.

Ginny, Ron, and Luna had made the journey over to see Harry play. Hermione was busy teaching at Hogwarts, and could not _possibly_ leave to see a _game_.

Of course, she probably would have left if a certain _other_ professor even cared about any other Quidditch team than Sl—

I digress.

Well, the captain of the Cannons had graciously bought the team, and their families, tickets to see the two closest baseball teams play each other.

Ginny and Ron were eager to go. Luna didn't really seem to care, she was staring at the back of Ron's head as Harry told them. It was almost as if she _fancied_ him. Then again, they _had_ been mar—

Again, I digress. But of course they hadn't been mar, for 'mar' wouldn't be the proper tense of the word in this particular situation, so you can safely assume that they were at least 'marred' or perhaps a letter more.

Ginny seemed to notice something about the situation that the other two did not and was almost chuckling.

"What?" Ron asked, turning round in such a way that Luna was right in front of his face He jumped back automatically, not wanting to trip over her for the seventh time this trip. "What's so funny?"

"Ask Harry. He must think all this is rather familiar." She smiled.

Ron looked at his best mate quizzically. "Well?" he asked.

"Tell you later," said Harry.

——

Harry was not still very happy once the game was underway. The Red Sox were winning. They still had their best pitcher, Pedro Martinez, on the mound, and he was still going strong.

"LET'S—GO—RED—SOX!" chanted Ron and Luna, much to Harry's irritation.

"Of _course_, Ron would like the Red Sox," Ginny whispered to Harry. "After all, they have worse luck than the Cannons."

Harry smiled.

New York was starting to hit the ball more. But the coach was going out to change pitchers.

__

Damn it, thought Harry futilely. He reached into his pocket for his ticket, for no reason at all, except perhaps to rip it up and storm off sulkily as the Red Sox changed pitchers.

His hand, however, came into contact with his wand, giving him an idea. A crazy idea, perhaps. An insane idea, you could argue. But an idea, none the less.

__

What if I...

No, I couldn't, that would be illegal. And cheating.

But no one would know...

If the Yankees couldn't score soon, they would likely lose. And Harry did _not_ want the Red Sox to win.

__

Why shouldn't I do it?

"_Imperio!_" Harry aimed at the Red Sox' coach, walking out toward to pitcher's mound.

__

Keep him in. Keep him in. Keep him in.

"What are you _doing _Harry?" asked Ginny, incredulous, moving to take Harry's wand.

"Winning," Harry said simply, and for some reason Ginny didn't stop him. A lot of people wished she had, even though they didn't know anything of the situation at all. If she had restrained him, perhaps Boston wouldn't have been quite so miserable...

The coach left Martinez in. He gave up the runs, the Red Sox eventually lost in the eleventh on an Aaron Boone home run. Harry was lucky enough — or so Ron and Luna believed — to have caught the home run ball. Ginny knew better.

Harry Potter went back to the hotel they were staying at with a smile on his face. Ginny didn't quite know what to make of it.


	3. Curses!

Harry Potter and the Curse of the Bambino  
_ Potter47_

You'll have noticed that there are now three chapters in this story — for the Curse of the Bambino did not win once and for all in '03, much to Harry's dismay, and the Red Sox have returned to the playoffs, and for the one person in Montana that hasn't heard, they have beaten the Yankees as well. So here goes: Harry Potter and the Curse of the Bambino, chapter three.

Chapter Three  
Curses!

Harry Potter was a very happy young man. And why shouldn't he be? After all, he was happily married, happily ambiguous in his community, and happily not in Azkaban despite an illegal curse he may have used about a year prior to the start of this tale. And above all else, the Boston Red Sox (Harry's most-hated team in all professional sports) were about to be swept by the Yankees.

He knocked on the door to Ron's house — Harry didn't know why, but he always thought of it is "Ron's house" not "Ron and Luna's" house, despite the blonde witch always being the one to answer the door.

"Hi, is Ron—" said Harry, about to ask if Ron was there so that he could ask if they wanted to go with himself and Ginny to Boston to see the Red Sox get swept by the Yankees, but stopped short, seeing Luna's headgear.

She was wearing a Red Sox cap.

He blinked.

It was still there.

"Is Ronald what? Blue? Purple? Spotted? Snorkackian? No, I'm afraid not," said Luna forlornly.

"What are you _wearing?_" Harry couldn't help himself from saying, despite knowing perfectly well the meaning of the 'B' on her head.

"_Clothes_, of course," said Luna obviously, for it is obvious that only Luna would have said it.

Harry didn't know what to say now — _Do you want to come with us to see your team lose horribly? _didn't sound too nice. Neither did _I sure hope that's a Boston Braves hat, Luna, because your team's about to be crushed._

Just then, Ron arrived, to Harry's relief — or at least, it _would _have been to Harry's relief, if Ron hadn't been wearing matching headgear to Luna's.

"What are you _wearing?_" Harry asked again.

"He's wearing _clothes_," said Luna, frustrated. "How many times to I have to explain this...?"

"What, the hats?" Ron inquired, tipping his own as he said so. Harry nodded. "Keeping the faith, of course," said Ron obviously, for it is obvious that only Ron would have said it.

"What do you mean?" said Harry.

"Well, the Sox are losing—three games to none! And you and I both know that doesn't mean they're going to lose—just think of what you and the Cannons did last week!"

Harry's team had made it to the championship the previous week, going undefeated after losing their first three games. Not that Harry wanted to admit the similarity, of course.

"That's completely different..." Harry defended weakly.

"So, what did you want to ask? Or say? Or state? Or inquire? Or demand?" Luna asked, said, inquired, and demanded.

"I was wondering," began Harry quietly, "if the two of you wanted to go to Boston tonight."

"Boston?" said Luna. "That's entirely coincidental."

"You don't have _tickets,_" said Ron, gaping.

"I do," said Harry.

"Then what are we waiting for? The game starts at eight-nineteen!"

——

Harry, Ginny, Ron and Luna arrived at Fenway Park just before gametime. Ron was going on about how David Ortiz was due to hit a home run, and occasionally Harry interjected that the Red Sox' chances of winning with Derek Lowe pitching were about as good as the chances that Dumbledore and McGonagall had secretly been married for the past fifty years or so.

"Well, we don't know that they haven't," Luna pointed out. Harry decided to ignore the statement.

Ron had brought a big sign reading

THE GREATEST COMEBACKIN MUGGLE HISTORY!

but Ginny made him change it to say 'SPORTS' instead of 'MUGGLE' so that he didn't do anything illegal. She glanced at Harry suspiciously as she did so.

To Ron, the game felt like it went by in a moment, gone before he could even cherish the memory.

To Harry, the game felt as though it lasted five hours (which it did).

In the bottom of the twelfth inning, Harry was getting very upset. The game was tied at four, as it had been since Mariano Rivera gave up a run in the ninth to blow the Yankee lead (Harry had felt like cursing him, but had miraculously held back) and the Red Sox' pitching didn't seem to be showing any signs of weariness. When was the Curse of the Bambino going to show up again? Was it not going to? Did Harry _really _have to do it himself again?

He decided, while Ron and Luna began their fifty-millionth "LET'S—GO—RED—SOX!" chant, to take matters into his own hands.

There was a runner on base, and David Ortiz was at the plate. Harry stood up from his seat, pulling out his wand and aiming at the batter.

"_Imp—_" he began, only to be tackled by Ginny the next moment.

She had him pinned to the ground, and he looked up at her disbelievingly.

"Why did you _do_ that—?" he demanded, stopping short at the look on her face.

She shook her head slightly. "Not this time," she said, and it seemed for a moment she was going to lean down to kiss him, but they jumped apart at the sudden roar from the crowd.

"They won, didn't they?" said Harry disparagingly.

"Yes," said Ginny, nodding, helping Harry back up to his seat.

Ron and Luna were bouncing up and down, though it seemed that Luna wasn't actually coming into contact with the ground at all, but rather floating at different heights.

"The Yanks have three more shots, though," Harry reminded them.

Ron answered only by holding his sign up high.

"And they won't have any help, will they, Harry?" whispered Ginny threateningly.

Harry glared, and glumly said "_No_."

"That's a good little Harry," said Ginny, grinning.

——

The next day, Ron turned up at their hotel room door in the very early morning, waking them with his excited knocking.

"I've got tickets!" he shouted as a very tired Harry opened the door reluctantly.

"Wha—why are _you _of all people awake at this hour?

"Because I've got tickets!" he said again.

"Joy," said Harry sarcastically, yawning.

"Have you been out _all night?_" Ginny said, sipping a cup of coffee she had magicked for herself to wake her up fully. Ron did look as though he had never turned in after the one-o'clock twelfth inning. "What does Luna have to say about that?"

"Oh, she's asleep," said Ron dismissively, holding the four rectangles in front of his sisters face. "_Tickets!_"

"You woke us up to tell us this before you told your own _w_—"

"I'll tell her!" said Ron. "But can you believe it? _I _got tickets! Game five, Boston Red Sox versus New York Yankees, five o'clock! Top box, too!"

"There's no top box in Fenway Park," objected Harry.

"Monster seats then," corrected Ron. "But I can't believe it."

"Good for you," said Ginny. "Now leave us alone and tell your wife."

——

That night wasn't a bit happier for Harry; in _fourteen _innings, David Ortiz won it _again_ for the Red Sox, sending Ron into a panic because the next game was in New York and they didn't have tickets.

"Can I _please_ do something if it looks bad tonight?" Harry begged Ginny after _Luna_ of all people had miraculously come up with tickets.

"No," said Ginny simply.

"Damn it."

The Red Sox pitcher was Curt Shilling, who had lost game one for his team with a hurt ankle. Ron showed Harry, through his smuggled omnioculars, the blood on Shilling's sock.

"Now _that's_ a red sock."

"Very funny."

Shilling, to Harry's dismay, pitched wonderfully. And the Red Sox second baseman, Mark Bellhorn, hit a ball right into the chest of Ron's black jacket. He was unbelievably depressed when it bounced right back onto the field.

Harry had to struggle to keep himself from _Imperio_ing the Umpires when Alex Rodriguez slapped the ball out of the pitcher's hand, but a look from Ginny ended any thoughts of that distinction. The Red Sox won yet again.

Game seven was scheduled for the next night, and Harry was dreading it. If the Yankees lost again, the Red Sox would be in the World Series, with a chance to win it all. He didn't like the idea in the least.

They somehow managed to secure tickets once again, this time right behind the right-field fence at Yankee Stadium.

In the first inning, David Ortiz hit a home run their way, and Ron wished desperately that it had been the slightest bit lower. His wish was granted in the second inning, when Johnny Damon hit a grand slam right into his smuggled butterbeer, causing it to splash all over the place.

"YES!" shouted Ron exuberantly, pumping the ball in the air.

"No," muttered Harry weakly, wiping butterbeer from his trousers.

Damon hit another homer later, a deck or two above where the four were sitting, and the Red Sox were leading eight to one.

As the game wound to a close, Harry made his way away from his friends, claiming he had to use the loo. But when he had escaped his wife's suspicious gaze, he made a last-ditch effort to kill the Red Sox' chances.

"_Imperio!_" he cursed, aiming at the Red Sox' coach, and for a reason unexplainable to anyone but Harry, Terry Francona put Pedro Martinez into the game for the eighth inning, and he gave up two runs before Harry even got back to his seat.

It didn't make any difference, however. The Red Sox won, adding two runs to their total before doing so. Harry was furious on his way back to the hotel.

He didn't care what Ginny said; he would _not_ let the Red Sox win the World Series.


End file.
